


Now Are Found

by james



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8674687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: Jenkins has spent a lot of time alone, and he likes it that way.  He won't admit (out loud) that he doesn't really mind the newfound family that has set itself up in his personal space.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jillyfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/gifts).



Jenkins still missed those days when he lived and worked at the Library alone, when his was just a lonely, forgotten little Branch and the main Library was the center of all the action and attention. He'd often go years without speaking to a single living soul, other than the occasional waiter when he dined out, or the baristas who served his coffee when he pried himself out for a walk and some sunshine.

Of course, there wasn't much sunshine in Oregon, which generally gave him the excuse to stay indoors with a book. He smiled in fond remembrance of the easy, quiet days – disturbed by a sudden slam from upstairs. Jenkins sighed, tried to soothe the hunch out of his shoulders. Decades he'd been by himself and he _liked_ it that way. He did.

He knew that the fact he had to keep reminding himself of that fact was, perhaps, telling. He would certainly never say so out loud to any of them, but it wasn't as though the other residents of the Library were...completely horrible. Jenkins glanced up as the thumping of quick footsteps on the stairs grew louder; Stone came racing into view, the clomp of his heavy work boots echoing in the room.

Jenkins wondered if he added more carpeting, would it help; he had a feeling somehow the noises would not abate. He did find himself smiling as Stone ran past him – reflexively returning the wide grin on the other man's face. "I take it you found the--" was all Jenkins got out before Stone was out the door and down the hallway. 

But Stone had nodded, though, at the partially voiced question and Jenkins felt safe assuming that meant he'd found the answer he'd been looking for. He hadn't been carrying a book with him, but no doubt the young Librarian felt he could still remember whether it was five cups of flour or four by the time he got back to the kitchen. The chupacabra was on a cookie-making kick, as Jenkins recalled, and Stone was eagerly helping him try out a variety of new recipes.

It didn't hurt that plates of cookies kept finding their way into his office, even though it also meant other people _also_ found their way into his office, intent on sampling the next round. A small price to pay for warm shortbread or fresh welsh cakes.

The Library door suddenly swung open, and Jenkins glanced over to see Jones sauntering in. He was staring intently his phone, apparently unconcerned about nearly walking into Jenkins' desk. Jones barely gave him a look as he continued to do – whatever it was – as he walked past without even a hello. Then, two steps later, Jones stopped and turned, and reached into his backpack. Jenkins folded his hands on top of his desk and put a wide, wholly sarcastic smile of expectation on his face.

The smirk Jones gave him in return was entirely expected, but then as he pulled a book out of his bag, his expression changed to something rather shifty and suspect by its nonchalance. "So, yeah, I found this. For the Library, or whatever." He didn't quite meet Jenkins' eye as he set it on Jenkins' desk, then he began walking away quickly, and for a moment Jenkins wondered if the book was rigged to explode. 

Then he saw the title. It was, interestingly, a rare volume of essays on Olmec art. Not something Jones had ever professed to care about, and certainly not something the Library needed a copy of, as it was a perfectly normal book with no magical substance at all. However, it was one of the titles Stone had been ranting about missing, just a few weeks before. He'd been extremely annoyed about private collectors withholding volumes from the academic community and had tried to convince Jenkins that the Library should step in to "collect" precious academic volumes, but Jenkins had ignored him. 

Jones had, as he recalled, taken great delight in reminding Stone that the Library itself was all about withholding volumes from the greater community, and the two of them had been arguing about it ever since.

Jenkins looked up as Jones was heading out. "You didn't steal this, did you?" he asked, though he didn't expect an honest answer. He couldn't pass up the chance to harass Jones about what appeared to be doing something _nice_ for someone else.

"Sorry, can't hear, what was that?" Jones asked even as he walked out of the room, not pretending to wait for a reply.

Smiling – much more honestly this time – Jenkins set the book aside. He'd leave it where Stone would come across it, and he would excuse himself from knowing anything about where it came from. Or, if there were any more tea cakes to be had, Jenkins thought he might take credit for obtaining the book himself in hopes of getting an extra plate as thanks.

"No, no, try this one," Cillian's voice floated in, and Jenkins sighed. He really did like it quiet – and so far everyone who'd come in had gone right back out again. But Cillian and Colonel Baird had recently become addicted to what was, in Jenkins' opinion, a rather silly game, and as such they tended to find themselves a place to sit and play, then stay there for hours.

Sure enough, a moment later they came into view, both of their heads down over a tablet. Baird was swiping at something on the screen, and Cillian suddenly squealed.

"That's it! We got it!" Cillian squealed again and threw her arms around Baird's neck, who, Jenkins noted with some relief, didn't look entirely comfortable with the hug. Baird did look happy about whatever she'd just done on the game, however, and it didn't surprise him when she tapped the screen.

"All right, so what's the next level on this thing?" She was staring intently at the tablet, and Jenkins wondered if the two women even knew he was there.

Well, if they didn't, they wouldn't try talking to him, but if Baird won the next level there was going to be even more loud, happy squealing.

He could go back to his private quarters and finish reading his book. He was halfway through a rather pedestrian mystery, and he was rather surprised with himself that he hadn't put it down yet. He knew who had done it – it was obvious to everyone expect the detective that the younger sister was involved in an evil cult and had murdered her brother to get the inheritance in order to fund the cult's activities. But every time he set it down, thinking he didn't need to waste his time on such trash, Jenkins found himself eventually picking it back up again.

He still had to _know_ if it was the sister, as it was always possible, though highly unlikely, that it was the housekeeper. And the detective's next door neighbor was either a ghost, or a figment of the detective's imagination – either way he was definitely the love interest and solving the mystery of who killed the guy was possibly not why Jenkins was still reading the thing.

Jenkins glanced over at Baird and Cillian in time to see them both break out into triumphant smiles. No squealing yet; they were still heads-down over the screen, and now they were debating over which arrow to hit next. He opened his mouth to excuse himself for a late lunch and an early afternoon of reading, when Baird cursed. Cillian patted her on the shoulder. "It's okay, just reload, we got this."

Jenkins nodded, stood up silently, and tiptoed out of the room.

He knew the game they were playing, and he'd managed to lose an entire five months to it. He refused to let himself even see the board again, consoling himself that he'd gotten 2048, finally, and he didn't need to get sucked back in. There was a trashy dimestore mystery waiting for him, anyhow, and later for dinner perhaps there would be pizza or Chinese takeout, and for dessert they could sample another platter of homemade cookies.

Or the world would end, Jenkins found himself thinking, and he mentally slapped a hand over his mouth and froze in place, waiting. He stared up at the ceiling in the hallway when no alarms sounded.

He took half a step, and still no alarms. He knew better than to ask out loud of the Library was certain there were no emergencies to suddenly tend to, but he didn't relax just yet, either. Another step towards his rooms, and still nothing.

He risked a brief nod of thanks, then made his way to his room and found the book on his nightstand. Perhaps the neighbor was just a ghost, because it if was a figment of the detective's imagination – well, that would make it more difficult for the love story to have a _happy_ ending.

Dimly, he could smell vanilla and cinnamon wafting through the air from the kitchen.


End file.
